


Delaying the Inevitable

by tinkertoysdamn



Series: The Inevitable [2]
Category: Les Misérables (2012)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Era, Developing Relationship, Dubious Consent Due To Identity Issues, Falling In Love, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Omega Verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-06
Updated: 2013-04-06
Packaged: 2017-12-07 16:44:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/750740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinkertoysdamn/pseuds/tinkertoysdamn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Answer to Les Miserables kink meme prompt.  Javert is a closeted omega who has been transferred to M. sur M.  There he encounters the mayor, an alpha who reminds him of an aggressive convict he once knew.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Toulon

There were words for what Javert was, words that held an ugliness that would sting the ears of most men. But Javert was not most men, he was his mother’s child for better or worse and she had taught him not to feel shame for his body. There was nothing against it in the Code; anyone of any biological predisposition could hold any job in France. However, just because a thing is written in paper and ink, it does not mean that it is carved in the flesh of the human heart.

From a very early age, Javert learned to be discrete. His mother gave him lessons on the herbs and plants necessary to control his urges. She had become quite proficient in the use of them in her occupation, holding off heats and persistent suitors for years. Then one day she finally met the man who could bend her to his will and they were married. Though he was gruff and coarse, he adored her and for them that was enough, until the day he decided he wanted a child. 

She stopped taking her herbs and allowed herself to go into heat. That night a boy was conceived. For all their love and their hopes, they were still foolish and poor. They had no conception of how expensive pregnancy would be, nor of what it would take to raise a child once he was born. So the father went back to the profitable field of thievery and was sent to Toulon. Soon, the mother fell back on her second occupation, fortune telling, and was sent to prison as well.

Javert was born in a cell; he never met his father. He only knew the man from his misspelled infrequent letters and the money he sent from his wages in the galleys. He would later learn how remarkable this was, but as a lad he dreamed for a father and resented the gold. 

Becoming a guard in a prison would seem like an ill-conceived choice for most but for Javert, it was a challenge. If he could hold his own against these dregs of society, then he could do anything, be anywhere and enforce the Law without fear.

Then came Valjean. Damn the man, Javert had never felt that compulsion before. It was awful; there was a significant difference between just following an order and _that._ When there was no choice, when his body had physically betrayed him, Javert had nearly vomited. His only consolation was Valjean’s unwillingness to expose himself. 

But now he could feel the convict’s eyes on him, waiting for an opportunity. Javert had no doubt that if they had been outside the prison walls, Valjean would have tried to rut him, heat or no. If Javert’s own father had not been put off by his mother’s forced infertility, then he doubted Valjean would be by his own. Still, he drank his noxious potions and smirked at the convict’s ever increasing frustration. Watching the man seethe should not have given Javert as much pleasure as it did but he had little sympathy for the man. Javert had risen himself above baseness, Valjean should have done the same.

Javert’s distain did nothing to dampen Valjean’s interest. He continued to fight with the other inmates, always within Javert’s view, but a few sessions with the lash tempered down the frequency. Then he began focusing his strength in work which was, to Javert’s opinion, much more useful and impressive. Unfortunately, Valjean took this for approval and sometimes forgot his place. 

“I’m strong; you know I can protect you,” Valjean whispered. A meaningless platitude, the exact sort Javert’s mother suffered through with her suitors. The convict was breaking rocks, his shirt wrapped around his waist, muscles gleaming with sweat in the sun. 

Javert snorted in disgust, licking the corner of his lips without realizing it. “I hardy require protection.”

Valjean’s mouth quirked at that. He raised his pickaxe into the air and brought it down with a mighty crack. The rock splintered into a usable size. Valjean straightened his spine, stretching out his well-formed body as if he was putting it on display. “Strength can be used for more than protection.” 

Javert felt a small bloom of heat under his collar. “You are making assumptions, 24601.” 

Valjean scowled at the use of his number. “I have a name.” His tone was teetering on the edge of an order.

Javert could ignore it, though it took some effort. “Not until you step outside these walls again.” 

“I am still a man.” The convict dared to take a step forward, his hand out as if to grasp Javert’s arm. The truncheon came down without hesitation. Valjean clutched at his damaged limb, bruised but not broken. He glared at Javert, eyes aflame. 

“As you can see,” Javert said, “I have no need for protection, especially from you.” It was a small point, but one well proven. Valjean went back to his labors, though now his aim was less precise and his blows more forceful. 

Valjean was not the only prisoner in Toulon, for which Javert was grateful. There were more than enough inmates to divert Javert’s attention, such as 32357 who shared the same condition as Javert. It was fortunate that Javert had been present at the man’s first heat and not some of the more sadistic guards. Renaud, a man five years Javert’s senior physically and ten years his junior mentally, had been on watch with him. For Renaud, Javert’s cool headedness had been a blessing; the guard simply had not known what to do with the feverish, shivering wreck that 32357 had become. The two of them had hauled the prisoner into solitary, Javert deciding that the infirmary was too accessible by the other convicts. 

32357 had spent the next three days eating little and drinking less, lost in his own world of suffering and desire. Javert had watched over him, not trusting the other guards to keep the man safe. When it was over, he had issued orders for medication for the prisoner. No one questioned him on the expense as he framed it as an issue of prison security. Unchecked hormones in a tight enclosed space like Toulon could cause an increase in violence; perhaps even a riot. 

32357 had tried to thank Javert, but the guard insisted he was only doing his duty. The convict 32357 became a model prisoner after that. Javert was almost sorry to see the man go at the end of his term. 

Valjean, on the other hand, kept trying to escape and piled time onto his sentence with impunity. There were moments when Javert wondered if the man did it on purpose, but there was too much anger and hate in his countenance to think that Valjean actually wanted to stay in Toulon.

Finally there came a day when Javert felt that he could breath easier, Valjean was being paroled. A few guards escorted Valjean to the entrance, Javert following with the key to the man’s chains. The massive doors opened and Javert could hear the convict’s gasp as the warm sun struck his face. Javert took over escort duties, leading Valjean to the edge of the road. The two guards waited by the entrance in case they were needed.

“Today’s an important day,” Javert said.

“Yes,” Valjean replied, “the day of my release.”

Javert unlocked the man’s chains, watching as Valjean marveled at his new freedom. Valjean rubbed his wrists, easing out the aches. “I’m a free man,” he said. It sounded like a threat to Javert’s ears. 

Javert handed the now ex-convict the yellow passport. “Follow this to the letter, failure to do so will bring you back in our company.”

Valjean reached for the document, fingers brushing against Javert’s. It took a valiant effort to not shiver at the sensation. Valjean did not look at the paper; his eyes were locked on Javert, hungering for something that Javert refused to give. 

For one terrible moment, Javert thought Valjean was going to ruin everything. That an order would come tumbling from his mouth and Javert would be helpless to obey. It would ruin his career, not because they would dismiss him, that would be unlawful, but the prisoners would no longer fear him and he would lose the respect of the other guards. Or worse, they could pity him and he would be coddled and protected, made to feel useless at his own post. 

Valjean licked his filthy lips. The years had not been kind to him, his hair was coarsely cut and his beard long and stringy; the very earth seemed embedded in his skin. Despite all this, a single word would have Javert on his knees or his back, his body eager to serve even if his mind screamed with loathing.

“Yes, sir,” Valjean muttered. He took his first steps as a free man, passing right by Javert. He paused, his words low for the younger man only: “You’ll scream for me someday, I swear it.” Javert’s face betrayed nothing but he only let out his breath when he heard Valjean’s footsteps fading away.


	2. Montreuil-sur-Mer

Years passed and life continued on. Valjean broke his parole and disappeared; he was someone else’s problem at last. Javert advanced in the ranks and was taken out of Toulon for further training. Once outside, he found that he had to work a little harder to pass, but not much. A judicious application of perfume disguised his natural aroma, though he begrudged the expense.

He escaped detection except for an awkward few weeks with a very persistent tavern maid during a stakeout. But Javert had a much stronger will than she and since she never knew his real name he did not fear exposure. One day he was awarded his own post and was transferred to the small town of Montreuil-sur-Mer. 

When he arrived in town, he determined that his first order of business, once he secured a room for his stay, was to introduce himself to the Mayor. What should have been a quick, perfunctory meeting turned into one of the strangest encounters of his life. 

Javert made his way to the bead factory that Mayor Madeleine owned and was ushered up the stairs to the man’s office. The mayor was a fit looking man in his early fifties; his head was bent down to go through some paperwork. There was something familiar in the slope of his shoulders and the curve of his jaw but Javert could not place it. What was more puzzling was the presence the man had; it reminded Javert of Valjean and the tavern maid. Javert’s superior skills of observation had allowed him to discern those like himself, and also those who were his opposite number. If the Mayor was trying to disguise his dominant traits, he was doing an excellent job. Javert did not blame the man for doing so, polite society was fickle about such things, but he would have to keep on high alert; no sense in letting the Mayor know his new Inspector’s inclinations. 

Javert coughed to announce his presence. “Monsieur le Maire, I am Javert, the new Inspector. I have my orders from the Prefecture if you would like to see them.” 

The Mayor looked up then and seemed startled for a moment. Javert ignored the reaction and held out his packet from Paris. Mayor Madeleine took the offered papers, careful not to let their fingers touch. “Thank you, Inspector.” 

He set the packet down on his desk, away from the rest of his work. An awkward silence descended. Mayor Madeleine made no move to read the orders and Javert made no motion to leave. So Javert stood there at attention while Madeleine sat, his eyes darting around as if afraid to linger on Javert too often. 

The Inspector cleared his throat. “I will be giving a report every morning, would you prefer to receive it here or at your home?”

“Every morning?” Mayor Madeleine asked. He squirmed a little in his chair.

“Yes, there is much to do and as police authority is limited I will require your approval before proceeding with my duties. As such, I will be delivering a report daily,” Javert explained.

“Oh.” The Mayor seemed distressed by this.

Javert ventured a guess: “I take it your previous Inspector did not do the same.” 

“No,” Mayor Madeleine replied, his face a little flushed, “he did not.”

“Well,” Javert’s lips curved into a self-satisfied smirk, “you will find I’m not nearly so lax in my work.” 

The Mayor busied his hands with rearranging some of his papers. “Right.” His demeanor was strange; Javert wondered if the man had been cursed with a temperament that contradicted his biology. “I think I would prefer to hear the reports here, first thing in the morning before the factory opens.”

“Excellent.” Javert stood there, waiting for his formal dismissal. Mayor Madeleine seemed puzzled at Javert’s continuing presence. “Will that be all, Monsieur le Maire?”

“Yes, thank you.” The Inspector bowed and took his leave. He had to restrain himself from rolling his eyes as he descended the stairs. For a man with an aggressive biology, Mayor Madeleine was infuriatingly demure. He had to be hiding something and Javert would find out what. 

Weeks passed, Javert gave his reports and the Mayor his formal approvals, both growing increasingly bored with the whole routine. Javert resented having to ask the Mayor for permission for every small matter and the Mayor acted like sitting there and listening was akin to pulling teeth. There were important things to do in Montreuil-sur-Mer; it was a port town and the docks were an ideal place for crime to fester. But instead of focusing on potential smugglers and thieves, the Inspector had to backtrack to all the petty annoyances he couldn’t take care of the day before. Meanwhile, the Mayor wandered the town, distributing money to the poor and behaving like the good saint ignoring reality. 

One day, it all came to a head. In the middle of Javert’s report, the Mayor slammed his hands down on his desk in exasperation. “Excuse me Inspector, but I have much to do today and I cannot waste my time with this.” 

Javert felt the hackles rise on the back of his neck. “This is not a waste of time. This directly concerns your town and the people in it.”

Mayor Madeleine raised an eyebrow and pressed a finger against the written report. He traced one of the lines with distain. “’M. Blanchett argues loudly in public.’ He is hardly a dangerous man, Inspector.”

“Do you think I enjoy this?” Javert hissed, frustration seeping from every pore. “Do you think I like wasting my time getting a stamped approval to tell a citizen to stop yelling in the streets because he thinks the grocer shorted him? What happens when someone gets murdered? Do I have to run down here to the factory and hope you’re in before I can start a proper investigation?”

“No.” Mayor Madeleine rubbed his temples. “It does make me wonder what the previous Inspectors were doing.”

Javert sneered, “Not much, few have my persistence.”

“I’ve noticed.” There was a tiny change in Monsieur le Maire’s expression as if coming to a conclusion after a long period of contemplation. “There’s only one solution to this problem, I will have to draft an order to expand your authority.”

Javert was stunned. “Excuse me?” 

“These past weeks you have demonstrated great concern for the safety of the community and you find yourself hampered by bureaucracy,” Mayor Madeleine replied. “Personally, I would prefer to hear your reports in the evening of what you have accomplished rather than in the morning of what you must do.”

It was a tempting thought, but the Mayor was not the only citizen in town. “I agree Monsieur le Maire, but are you certain the community won’t be offended?”

“From what I’ve seen of your work, you are not one to abuse power,” Mayor Madeleine said. Javert could not help the small swell of pride he felt at the compliment. “It’s settled, I will have something drafted by the end of the day to take effect immediately.” 

“Thank you, Monsieur.” 

“Once the order goes into effect I have no doubt you will be very busy, so I shall expect you in three days time to give your first report. In the evening, of course.” The Mayor smiled, it was the first time Javert had seen the expression on the man’s face. It made him look years younger and added warmth to his eyes. 

Javert ducked his head in deference to avoid staring, “Yes, Monsieur.”

Relations between the two eased after that. The Mayor was gratified at being proven right and Javert reveled in moving forward to establish order. Instances of public drunkenness decreased swiftly once Javert was able to throw the offender in a cell to sober up for the night, he was able to take care of petty disputes immediately rather than having to defer to the Mayor and he was able to focus proper attention to the docks. Mayor Madeleine even took the liberty of requesting two new officers from Paris to place under Javert’s command. 

There was some rumbling from the populace at first but it quickly dissipated. Once crime started to go down and the Mayor publicly extolled the virtues of his tiny police force the objections turned to praise. Even the upper classes took notice when M. Chaput’s shipment was stolen and recovered in full less than a day later. Javert had no use for polite society’s opinions and concentrated on doing what he loved most, his job. 

When the factory closed at night, Javert would go to the Mayor’s office and report on the day’s work. The meetings were briefer and much more exciting than the old ones and Javert started to enjoy having the older man’s undivided attention. In Toulon, Javert had hated being the object of Valjean’s gaze. Valjean’s eyes had been that of a predatory beast, hungry and wild. Mayor Madeleine was gentle and calm, his regard was welcome in a way Valjean’s never would be. The Mayor would make requests or give directives but he did not use his voice the way Valjean tried to, to compel Javert into obedience. It was this more than anything else that eased Javert regarding his superior’s nature. 

One night, Javert approached the Mayor’s desk as was his usual custom and Mayor Madeleine stood up, stretching his back. “Inspector, I have had a very long day,” Monsieur le Maire said, “and I cannot stand another minute in this factory.” Javert kept his face impassive as he watched the strong body before him. “Would you care to join me for dinner this evening? You can finish giving me your report there.”

Javert was shocked; this sort of invitation was unprecedented in their acquaintance. The Inspector thought about declining when his stomach rumbled. All he had at home was a bit of bread and cheese; perhaps he could sacrifice his privacy for one night. “I accept, Monsieur le Maire,” Javert replied.

“Excellent.” The Mayor bestowed another one of his beaming smiles at Javert.

They walked in silence to the Mayor’s home. It was a modest affair, the rooms clean and decorated with ugly mahogany furniture. Mayor Madeleine must have noticed the look of distaste on Javert’s face. “It came furnished, it’s not my fault.”

Javert’s opinion in décor didn’t matter considering his position but he found the Mayor’s concern amusing. “I did not say a word, Monsieur le Maire.”

Mayor Madeleine relieved himself of his outerwear and out of politeness Javert removed his own greatcoat. The Inspector felt naked in only his shirt and trousers but the Mayor did not notice his discomfort. “My housekeeper will bring us our meal by the fire,” Mayor Madeleine said. 

Javert sat down in one of the hideous chairs, noting that there were already two sets of glasses and tableware set out for them. The Inspector raised an eyebrow; apparently the Mayor had planned for him to be here this evening. Interesting.

A bottle of wine appeared in Javert’s view. “Would you like a glass, Inspector?” 

Normally Javert would refuse but there was a hopeful expectation in Mayor Madeleine’s air and Javert did not want to disappoint his superior. He could indulge just this once. “A very small glass please, Monsieur le Maire.” 

The wine was good, the bouquet delicate and refreshing. The Mayor’s housekeeper arrived from the kitchen with two large bowls of stew. Javert took a few bites and murmured in pleasure; it was excellent and very filling. 

“Have you any family, Inspector?”

The question was unexpected. Javert had never been one to engage in idle small talk and he felt a little out of his element. Perhaps if he kept his answers brief he could discourage the Mayor’s curiosity and get back to business.

“My mother died years ago,” Javert replied. “I never met my father.”

Mayor Madeleine sighed in sympathy. “I too lost my parents long ago.” Javert hoped that this would be the end of it. “What about other companions?” Mayor Madeleine asked. No such luck.

Javert shook his head. “My sparkling personality doesn’t attract many bosom friends.”

“I’m surprised,” the Mayor said. “A strong, healthy man of your age being alone. Have you never been courted?”

Javert’s thoughts immediately went to Valjean: to the man’s bloody fists and feral grin; the overt demonstrations of strength and the evil whispered promises. Javert did not appreciate this line of questioning. His face soured. “I thought this was about business.”

Mayor Madeleine blinked. “Pardon?”

Javert set down his bowl of stew. “You invite me to your home on the pretext of discussing my report and instead you ask me personal questions.”

The Mayor flushed, looking away from Javert’ glower. “I apologize Inspector, I just sometimes find it lonely in the evenings.”

The Inspector harrumphed; his superior’s social life was not his concern. “I’m certain there are others who would make more suitable company.”

“No,” Mayor Madeleine admitted, “there are few in town who I feel like I can talk to. I often feel that you are the only one not intimidated by me.”

Intimidated? The Mayor might have an aggressive biology but Javert thought the man was as intimidating as a church mouse. Then again, he was not with the Mayor every second of the day. It was possible that others might be cowed by the man, even if Javert wasn’t. “Because of your station?” Javert asked, knowing full well what the Mayor was actually referring to. 

“No,” Mayor Madeleine confessed. “Because I—I’m—“

Javert waited, not rushing the man. If the Mayor wanted to discuss his physiology then that was his choice. Javert was not going to offer up any advice or censure. He sat back in his chair and sipped at his wine.

The Mayor looked at Javert, gauging the Inspector’s nonchalance. “You already know,” he concluded. 

“Yes,” Javert said.

“And you are not disgusted with me?” Mayor Madeleine asked.

“Should I be? Biology is biology, it is how we rise above it that determines our worth,” Javert answered. 

The Mayor sighed; he seemed reassured by the response. “What about the rest of Montreuil-sur-Mer?”

Javert shrugged his shoulders. “There are rumors in town but few pay any real heed to them. They find it interesting gossip, that’s all.”

Mayor Madeleine took a drink from his glass. “I thought they would run me out of town if they knew.”

“People with your biology only receive a stigma if they have moral failings,” Javert explained. “If you stay righteous and out of prison then you will command only their respect.” It was true, the strange double standard that applied to the aggressive nature declared it an asset until it became a liability; those with Javert’s condition enjoyed no such leeway. “Admittedly,” Javert teased, “there may be a few who would lock up their sons and daughters until you were properly mated.” 

“I wish I could be that confident. Not all of us are as gifted at hiding our true natures as you,” Mayor Madeleine said.

Javert paused, the glass in his hand suddenly heavy; wine no longer seemed like a pleasant indulgence. He set the glass down, his mouth twisted into a frown. 

Madeleine’s eyes widened. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—“

“How long have you known?” Javert asked, voice tight.

“Since that first meeting,” Madeleine admitted. “Your smell, it was--”

One nature calls to another; he should have foreseen it. If he had been able to detect Madeleine on their first acquaintance then it stood to reason that he would be detected as well. It had been arrogant to assume otherwise, too many years of successfully passing had dulled his wits. “I see.”

“No one else knows.” 

That was not reassuring. Javert gripped the edge of the armchair; coming tonight had been a mistake. He rose to his feet. “I must be going.”

“Please, I—“ Madeleine reached out to touch Javert’s arm but recoiled at the last moment. The Inspector gave him a withering glare. “I am sorry if I have offended you.”

“I am not offended.” No, he was angry. It was the Inspector’s job to know people, to understand them. Him knowing about the Mayor was just a piece of information nothing more, but for the Mayor or anyone else to know about Javert was a liability. Now he had to worry about Mayor Madeleine being indiscrete, or worse, having _expectations_ of Javert. 

“Then please stay.” The Mayor’s voice was a soft plea and though there was no order in it, Javert still found it difficult to resist. 

The Inspector stiffened his resolve, shook his head and went to the coat rack. “I have lost my appetite.” He reached for his coat when the Mayor’s hand closed over his. There was no force in it, but it was startling enough to still Javert.

“What about another time?” Mayor Madeleine asked. His hand was warm and callused, so unlike that of the other gentlemen in town. It should not have made Javert’s skin tingle so. “I promise not to be so prying.” 

“I will be busy tomorrow night,” Javert said. It was not a falsehood; he did have a stakeout planned for the morrow. Javert knew that he shouldn’t promise anything; he should retreat from the situation and avoid contact with the Mayor altogether. But what Javert said was: “I am available the night afterward.”

Mayor Madeleine’s glee should not have felt so infectious. “Will I see you for a report tomorrow?”

“Yes,” Javert said. “I will be on time at the factory.”

The warm hand disappeared from atop Javert’s own. “Till tomorrow then.”

Javert slipped on his greatcoat and bowed his head. “Good night, Monsieur.” 

The night was brisk, leaching away all the heat from Mayor Madeleine’s fire. The Inspector shivered into his coat, his walk quick and sure. Javert told himself that the Mayor knowing did not change a thing; that it did not color the glances or the smiles thrown his way; that it did not alter Madeleine’s motives in his invitation to his home. He would just have to be diligent about how he acted around his superior. He would do nothing to engage the Mayor’s attention; he would be strictly professional. 

Then why did he set a date for dinner in the Mayor’s home? Javert scowled, furious with himself and his own weakness. Perhaps a good night’s sleep would put everything back in perspective.


	3. The Inevitable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Javert's heat comes, much to his horror. 
> 
> Some badly written old virgin porn in this chapter.

Was it possible for two men to possess the same colossal strength? Even though the Mayor and Valjean shared the same dominant nature, Javert had not seen that level of physical strength before, not in others of their kind. The cart should have broken the Mayor’s back, the man should have died but he did not. After it was over, he had accepted the praise of others with humility and went back to the factory. Although Mayor Madeleine had performed a miracle and saved a man’s life, for Javert all it did was instill doubt. 

He had suspected that the Mayor had been hiding something when they first met, but something of this scale? That the saintly Mayor of Montreuil-sur-Mer was a convict? It was absurd. There were other coincidences that bothered Javert, but that was all they were, coincidences. None of his observations would hold up in the court of law, everything was too circumstantial. At the end of the day there was nothing for Javert to do except examine his own motives. 

One dinner engagement with Mayor Madeleine grew to become a weekly habit. It never fell on any particular day, but at least one night a week the Mayor would invite Javert to break bread. The food was always excellent and the company more so. They discussed the affairs of the town and, for the most part, Madeleine kept his word regarding Javert’s personal life. Even so, Javert found himself volunteering information, each time earning a nod of understanding or, once, a hand placed on his knee in sympathy. Javert told himself that he was just satisfying the whims of a superior but the truth of the matter was that he was becoming fond of Mayor Madeleine.

That attachment was something he could ill afford; as a policeman he needed to stay objective about everyone, especially those in a position of power; his low birth made such a match totally unsuitable; and worst of all, Javert could not be sure if it was his heart or his body that wanted the man. Back in Toulon there had been moments when Javert could not help but respond to Valjean and his overtures, it was the curse of his biology. Luckily, Valjean’s personality had been so repellant that Javert could easily overcome the desires of the flesh. 

Mayor Madeleine, however, was a good man, a charitable man who put the needs of others above his own. He was a man whose smile Javert actively sought and whose good word made Javert proud. He had increased Javert’s influence and was directly responsible for the town’s safety and prosperity. Was Javert slandering the Mayor’s name in his own mind because he truly saw Valjean in Mayor Madeleine or was it to ease his own conscience for the thoughts that stole away his sleep at night? These were questions that needed to be answered if Javert was going to continue his duties in M-sur-M and serve her leader to the best of his abilities. 

It was two weeks later when Javert made a stop at the local apothecary. There were few people who would always be sympathetic to the plights of those with different physiologies and apothecaries were one variety of them. Javert had been doing business with Monsieur Vipond since his arrival in M-sur-M. The man was both knowledgeable and discrete, qualities that earned Javert’s trust.

The shop was empty early in the morning, which was why Javert always came at this time. “Good morning, M. Vipond.”

“Good morning, M. Inspector.” Monsieur Vipond was a rotund man, neatly groomed down to his terrible mustache. He was prone to drink but as he always confined himself to his home on those occasions, he never ran afoul of the law. 

Javert was quick and to the point. “I’m here to pick up my package.”

M. Vipond’s face became very grave. “I am sorry, M. Inspector, the shipment did not arrive.” 

Javert was stunned. “How? It always comes on time.”

“Other policemen do not keep the roads as safe as you do,” M. Vipond explained, wringing his hands in distress. “The shipment was stolen.” 

On the road, one shipment of goods looked like any other to a highwayman. They did not care what was in the carts so long as they could make some sort of profit. Thieves cared not if others suffered for their ill-gotten gains.

M. Vipond looked concerned when Javert remained silent. “Inspector,” he asked, “do you have any treatments at home you can use? I don’t have any in the back, I needed this supply to make more.”

“No.” Javert always bought the herbs on an as needed basis, he could not afford to stock up on his salary.

M. Vipond clenched and unclenched his fists in frustration. “If I had known I would have saved some for you.”

Javert sighed and disagreed. “Then someone else would have had to do without.” 

The apothecary let out a series of very unchristian curses. Javert found it amusing to hear such things spoken on his behalf rather than leveled at him for once. M. Vipond continued muttering to himself as he went into the back room. He came out a moment later with a tiny sachet of herbs. He thrust it at Javert, “Take this.”

Javert looked at the packet with curiosity. It was not his usual order. “What is it?”

M. Vipond looked around even though there was no one else in his shop; he dropped his voice to a low whisper. “It is an abortifacient.” Nothing else needed to be said. 

Javert reached for some money, but M. Vipond raised a hand and shook his head. “Thank you, M. Vipond.”

“Be safe, Inspector,” the apothecary said, “not every man can control himself like you do.”

Javert tipped his hat and departed for work, deep in thought. He had had not had to suffer through a proper heat in decades. He couldn’t just abandon his post for a few days and wait it out. Or could he? The Mayor was much too charitable for his own good; he would just excuse the issue as a personal matter and never bring it up again. Poulin could handle any emergency; he was a decent officer as long as he was given instructions. The only matter Javert was concerned about was Chaput’s ship coming into port in two days. 

When Javert got to the station, he spent the next hour composing his instructions to Poulin and a request for leave to the Mayor. He would leave the instructions for his officers tonight at his desk and send someone to deliver the request in the morning. Javert’s cycles had always been predictable and, judging by his increased emotional agitation, tomorrow afternoon he would be in full heat and unable to function. He would go to work today, feign a few symptoms of illness not to arouse suspicion and lock himself in his apartment the next morning. He would not come out until it was all over. 

Somehow, Javert made it through the day without incident. He used some of the acting skills he had learned in training to convince his fellow officers he was coming down with something. It was not difficult, a few throaty coughs in their presence and a few glares with unfocused eyes were sufficient. The fact that he was having difficulty focusing on any given task also helped; words on reports swam before his eyes, forcing him to set down his pen and just breathe for a few moments. 

When he gave his nightly report to the Mayor, Javert kept it simple and brief. Since he was not on the suppressants he did not want to be alone with the man for long. As it was, Javert could feel Mayor Madeleine watching him, his lips pressed together in concern. Javert hoped to god that the other man could not detect the changes in his body. 

“Are you all right, Inspector?” Being under the Mayor’s scrutiny was unbearable; Javert had always enjoyed holding the older man’s attention but this pointed, searching look made him want to confess to everything. To tell his superior about the apothecary, about his own doubts, about the wetness starting between his legs and how he really just wanted the Mayor to shove him over the desk and fuck him. 

Javert bit the inside of his cheek, tasting blood. “Just a little fatigued, Sir,” he answered, voice shakier than he’d like. He gave the Mayor a stiff little bow. “With your permission, I’ll take my leave.”

“Of course.”

He did not run out of the factory; his pace was steady as it was on any other day but Javert could not help but feel that the hounds of hell were nipping at his heels. The night air helped to cool the burning in his cheeks. 

As he neared his lodgings he spotted a well-known gamin wondering about. Javert approached the boy. The child stared up at him with large, hunted eyes. “I’ve done nothing.”

“I know,” Javert said. He took the letter to the Mayor out of his coat. “Deliver this to the Mayor for me tomorrow.”

The boy took the letter, curiosity all over his face. Javert knew that the gamin could not read so he was not worried about the criminal element discovering his absence. He handed the boy a coin for his trouble. “First thing in the morning.”

“Yes, Inspector.” The boy beamed and took off into the night. Mayor Madeleine had given the child money before, so Javert had no doubt that the gamin would be eager to seek him out. 

Although his room was cramped and bare, to Javert it was a safe haven, his sanctuary for the next few days. A meager meal and a warm bed were welcome succor for his weary body. Javert stripped to his nightclothes and fell into a fitful sleep. Dreams of broad shoulders, strong hands and gentle eyes plagued him and woke up with the sheets tangled around him, sticky with sweat. His own hardness lay heavy upon his thigh.

Thin shafts of sunlight filtered in around the curtains; it was morning on a day Javert would rather not live through. There was a quiet knock at the door. For a single paranoid moment, Javert had no idea who it could be. “Monsieur Inspector, I have breakfast ready.” Of course, it was Madame Berger his landlady. Her reedy voice came in muffled through the door but it was still recognizable. 

Food sounded like a disaster waiting to happen, but it would be foolish to refuse. “Madame I’m not feeling too well,” Javert called back, not bothering to leave the bed, “would you please leave it outside my door?”

Silence from the other end of the door as if Mme. Berger was processing this information. “Of course, Inspector,” she said. “Get some rest.” Her footsteps thudded along, fading as she went down the stairs. 

Without the distraction of conversation Javert could turn his attention to the discomfort between his legs. He took his length in hand and hissed at the sensation. Everything was much too sensitive; he could feel every wrinkle in the sheets, every thread seemed to chaff. He kicked the bedclothes off, exposing his body to the cool air of the room.

He stroked himself in a steady rhythm, willing this humiliation to be over. Every touch, every motion brought him closer and closer to ecstasy, but nothing could push him over the edge. Perhaps, if he gave his body what it wanted? His finger circled his opening, already slick and wet. He pushed in, groaning as he fucked himself, another greedy finger joining the first. It was good, but it wasn’t enough, not nearly enough. It was a mockery of his need. It was awful; how was he to endure three days of this torment? 

There was a knock at the door. Javert growled in frustration. “Just leave it at the door!”

The knocking became more insistent. Groaning with the loss, Javert removed his fingers from his body and wiped them on the sheets. He pulled on a dressing gown and stomped toward the door. He was going to give Mme. Berger a verbal thrashing she’d never forget. He yanked open the door. “I told you—“

It was not Mme. Berger. Mayor Madeleine stood there, holding the missive in one hand. “Inspector—“

Panicked, Javert shoved the door, trying to force it closed. But M. Madeleine’s shoulder wedged itself in the gap and with a mighty heave, thrust his body into the room. He sucked in a few breaths at the exertion, his eyes taking in the sight of Inspector Javert clutching a dressing gown about himself like a startled virgin. The smell of Javert and sex was overwhelming. Madeleine closed his eyes, his hands hanging limply as if afraid to touch anything. “You are in heat,” he whispered.

Javert grit his teeth. “Yes, go away.”

Mayor Madeleine did not go away, he continued to stand there still as a statue, watching Javert. The Inspector was sweating, his body screaming in response to the man in front of him. He bit his lower lip, willing the pain to dull the ache. “You are suffering,” Madeleine said. “Please let me help you.”

Javert choked out a harsh laugh. This was everything he had fought against his entire life, the terrifying loss of control, the desperation; for the Mayor to frame it as a problem to be solved and forgotten was insulting. “I am not one of your charity cases.”

“It is not charity, Javert.” A warm hand cupped the side of Javert’s face, the thumb stroking his cheek. When did the other man get so close? “This is something far more selfish.”

“I can’t—“ Javert swallowed, his mouth dry. “You need to leave before it’s too late.”

“What if I don’t want to leave?” Now both sides of Javert’s face were cradled in the palms of a generous man, one that Javert wanted more than anything. 

“Monsieur le Maire—“ Javert closed his eyes, racked with guilt. Madeleine was a citizen in good standing; he could not be saddled with a burden like him. “I won’t be the downfall of a good man.” 

“Tell me to go and I will leave.” Madeleine’s voice was trembling, his hands shaking. Javert dared to look at the man then, dared to see the other’s desperation, the other’s need that mirrored his own. 

Javert lowered his eyes, teeth scraping his bottom lip. He nodded, all resistance deserting him. “Stay,” said. 

Chapped lips pressed against his; they attempted to be chaste, but it quickly devolved into a wet press of mouth and tongue. It was awkward, the two of them fumbling around each other, both driven to a frenzy by uncontrolled hormones. Clothes were taken off with haste; Javert was pressed back onto the bed with Madeleine rutting against him. Madeleine had only a vague knowledge of what to do; his parents had not lived long enough to talk to him about such things. Javert was better off, before he had learned to be ashamed he had asked his mother questions and she had answered him candidly. His mother had expected Javert to marry someday and would need to know how to please a mate. 

Javert guided Madeleine’s fingers into his own body; his legs spread, he was eager to be filled. The older man was clumsy, far too excited at having Javert even in this way. He mouthed prayers and swears onto Javert’s neck, his teeth grazing at shoulder and collarbone. When they finally coupled, Javert had to guide Madeleine’s prick as well, the Mayor simply did not have the concept of angles down. It was over far too soon but Javert was satisfied, the terrible need was gone for now and Madeleine was looking at him with something akin to reverence. 

“Is that it?” Madeleine asked. He grunted a little as he pulled out of Javert’s body. 

“No,” Javert replied. “We’ll probably be at each other a few more times before it is over.” The laundress was going to murder Javert when she saw the sheets.

The grin on Madeleine’s face was far too pleased with itself. Javert gave in to the impulse to kiss the man’s nose. He ran a hand down the older man’s back, wanting to touch what he couldn’t appreciate a few moments before. Madeleine’s back was not smooth; there were deep welts and grooves from old wounds. His finger traced the course of the scar he could feel but could not see. It seemed that the good Mayor had once known the sting of the lash.

Madeleine grasped his wandering hands. He looked into Javert’s eyes with a look of outmost seriousness; Javert could tell that the other man wanted to say something important. “I want you to live with me,” he said.

Javert chuckled, the heat wasn’t even over yet and Madeleine was being ridiculous. “That is the hormones, it is not possible.”

“Why?” Madeleine asked; he rubbed his thumbs over Javert’s palms. The simple touch felt incredibly good. “M. Chaput’s son is like me, he’s mated.”

“He’s also wealthy and had his ‘bride’ vetted for him,” Javert pointed out, just because he was outside of society didn’t mean he didn’t know the gossip. “With you I’ll be that hormonal bitch who trapped a good man with his terrible wiles.” 

Madeleine frowned; he looked as if he were about to argue then thought better of it. “What do we do then?”

Javert shrugged. “Continue on as before, except dinner might be more eventful,” he said with a leer. There was something about interacting with Madeleine now that felt more natural, less stressful than before. He was calm and in good humor. He wondered if it was the aftermath of sex or the bond that formed from people with their unique conditions mating.

“I don’t know if that’s enough,” Madeleine admitted. “Seeing you for only an hour or so a day.” 

Javert thought for a moment, he had never navigated a relationship before. People with Madeleine’s constitution sometimes became possessive or needy. He had to reassure Madeleine of his investment in this ill-advised coupling but also make him see sense. “It won’t be forever,” he said. “Someday I’ll be transferred out of this place, maybe go someplace bigger like Paris. You can follow me; retire from public life or continue doing your good work.” It was true; Javert did not expect to spend his life in M-sur-Mer. He hardly expected to be promoted to anything important but he was wasted here. 

He pulled Madeleine’s hand to his mouth and kissed it, intertwining their fingers. “If we went to Paris we could live together with no one knowing about our conditions,” he continued, weaving a fantasy for them both. “Here we have duties and responsibilities, the people depend on us to keep order. How can we do that if they know? Do you think you can command the respect you do now if they think I earned my job in your bed?”

Madeleine seemed to consider this, his face schooled in a deep frown. Javert knew that he was being harsh, but the man was an idealist who believed that every man was good and decent. Javert knew better, he had lived in the world and seen the truth of men’s hearts. 

“What does it matter anyway?” he said aloud. Javert wrapped his arm around Madeleine’s broad shoulders and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I’m still yours.”

“Yes,” Madeleine agreed, a feral look clouding his eyes. “You are mine.” He turned his head and took Javert’s lips, asserting his claim. Javert yielded, allowing the Mayor to bend him back, the heat surging up between them again. They lost themselves in each other, concerns about the future forgotten for the moment.


	4. Highwaymen

Mating shortened the duration of the heat and Javert was able to take only one day of leave instead of three. He had to hide a limp in his step but he was too elated to care. The sheets, as predicted, were ruined. Madeleine offered a new set of linens, which Javert consented to take. It would be the only present he would accept.

They did develop a bond, but it was nothing like the tripe printed in the trashier Romance novels of the day. It only flared up when they were in close proximity to each other and during extreme emotional states. Javert was thankful for this; the idea of being emotionally tethered to another human being for his entire life was, quite frankly, intolerable.

There were difficulties of course, as in any relationship, just not the ones that Javert had foreseen. One morning Javert came into the police station and discovered an urgent letter from the Mayor of another township. Rather than waiting for the evening, Javert chose to present this missive to Madeleine right away. 

“It is a request for the police department of M. sur. M. to assist in the apprehension of these men,” Javert explained, handing over the paper. “These robbers have been terrorizing the roads, making commerce and travel difficult.”

Madeleine glanced over the letter. “Who will you be sending?”

“Lambert and I will be accompanying the main party,” Javert said. “I will have Poulin stay to keep the peace here.”

Madeleine scratched his chin. “How dangerous are these men?”

It was not relevant, but the Mayor had asked. “They have killed several of their victims,” Javert replied. “They favor knives as a form of execution.”

Madeleine’s answer was swift: “No.”

“No?” Javert was surprised; he thought that the Mayor would have jumped at the chance.

“I forbid it.” Mayor Madeleine placed the missive back in the envelope, as if to close the matter.

Javert could feel Madeleine’s irritation and his own ire reared up to match it. “This is a request from one Mayor to another, one who is connected to the crown; you cannot afford to deny it.” 

Madeleine drew himself up in his chair, as if to make himself appear bigger. “They are requesting my police force, I think I have a right to keep them from danger.”

Javert pinched his mouth into a tight severe line. “I see.” It seemed that Madeleine was letting his feelings interfere with his duties. “Sir, do you think me a competent officer?”

Madeleine frowned. “Of course.”

Javert leaned forward, daring to place his hands on the desktop. “Then why do you suddenly think I’m not?”

The older man was taken aback. “I never said—“

“I am more than capable of handling myself against these brigands,” Javert said, voice cold. “I will not endanger this mission and keep civilians at risk to satisfy your ridiculous nature.”

Madeleine stood up, his voice a growl. “That is out of line.”

Javert was not going to put up with this display, mate or not. “Is it? I’m not the one letting biology get the better of me.”

They stared at each other in tense silence. Eyes locked in a fierce battle of wills, though everything in Javert was beseeching him to look down, to submit, he would not. This was too important; the Mayor could not be allowed to run roughshod over him, to degrade his work. After a moment, Madeleine looked away, mouth turned down. “I am sorry, Javert. I just—“

Javert sighed, he had wanted to make a point, not make the other man miserable. Though he had made it a rule never to stay the entire night in the Mayor’s home, this might be the time to make an exception. “I will be gone for at least a week,” he said, “may I see you this evening?”

Madeleine’s eyes lit up and the Inspector felt his face warm. “Yes.” He leaned forward and dared to take Javert’s lips with his. The kiss was chaste but Javert’s breath quickened all the same. Thank god they were away from the windows, he did not want to give anyone a show. “Come for a late supper,” Madeleine instructed. “I’ll give the housekeeper the night off.”

The next morning, the Inspector stole out of Madeleine’s house before the rosy fingers of dawn touched the sky. He joined his fellow officers at the police station and they set off. Riding on his horse was a little difficult, but not as maddening as the itch underneath his collar. Javert was grateful that the others could not see it, for explaining such a mark would have been humiliating indeed. 

Being away from M. sur M. for a few days doing real police work was thrilling. Javert and his fellow officers spent two days tracking down the bandits from their last known whereabouts. He should not have been quite so enthused about engaging in a physical altercation, but crime in M. sur M. was rather dull. Though the brigands had been armed, Javert and the other officers were able to put them down and cuff them.

The operation did not go off without its casualties; an officer from the other town had been stabbed in the arm, there were numerous scrapes on poor Lambert plus a cracked rib and Javert had been punched in the face. It looked worse than it was, everyone would recover from his wounds in time. 

The bruise was a livid purple by the time Javert returned to M. sur M. He rode into town accompanied by Lambert, Javert tried to keep an eye on the other man. He really should not have been on horseback in his condition, but Lambert had a grisette he wanted to impress. 

A harsh feminine voice catcalled: “Oh Inspector, I hope you gave as good as you got.” She was Sabine, one of the local prostitutes, a woman who looked much older than she was due to hard drink and hard living.

Javert straightened up on his horse. “Better,” he answered.

The bawd cackled with mirth, displaying her remaining teeth. Javert’s relationship with the town’s public women was strained at best. Unlike citizens, Javert had full legal reign over them. Fortunately, he was a just man and if he witnessed a dispute it would work out in accordance to the law. Sometimes this worked in favor of the prostitutes, sometimes the other party. The fact that he would not take a bribe was also a point of contention. Though this meant he did not abuse any of the public women, they also could not ply him; it was a double-edged sword. 

“The Mayor will be happy to see you back,” Sabine said. 

Javert frowned, “Has there been some incident?”

“No.” Sabine rearranged her skirts in a manner Javert guessed was supposed to show off her legs. “He’s just been asking for word on his nightly constitutionals, like we might’ve heard something he hadn’t.”

Oh god, had Madeleine really been nosing around the poor districts like some housewife awaiting news of a soldier’s return? “Thank you, I’ll give him my report as soon as possible,” Javert said.

Sabine gave him a saucy wink that the Inspector did not deign to acknowledge. After stabling his horse and depositing Lambert safely at his own quarters, Javert made his way to Madeleine’s bead factory. 

How he was greeted when he arrived was not what he was expecting. Madeleine took one look at his face and growled. “You said that you could handle yourself!” The Mayor pressed Javert against the wall, the other man’s body pinning him in. Madeleine’s eyes were wild; Javert could not read him. 

“Monsieur le Maire,” Javert said, he was nervous in a way he had never felt in his superior’s presence, “a bruise is hardly cause for alarm.”

“Don’t tell me—don’t—“ He choked off the rest of what he was going to say with a sob. The Mayor was incoherent, nothing like the calm, controlled man Javert knew. This distressed Javert more than he could say. 

The Inspector risked raising his hands and placing them on Madeleine’s arms, the muscles trembled beneath his palms. He leaned forward, resting his forehead against the Mayor’s; he inhaled and exhaled, slow and deliberate. Soon, Madeleine’s breathing matched his own. “Madeleine—“

“They could have killed you,” Madeleine whispered.

And that was the crux of the matter. “It doesn’t matter, it is all over,” Javert said, nuzzling against the other man’s neck. “The men responsible are in custody.” Madeleine pulled back, his hand cupping Javert’s face. “I will be fine,” Javert insisted, “it will heal.”

Javert winced as Madeleine’s thumb pressed at the discoloration. “Be more careful next time.” It was almost an order.

The Inspector glared, he would not be talked down to. “Do not insult me.” For some unfathomable reason, this made Madeleine smile. Javert wondered if he ever was going to understand the man. 

Unfortunately, Javert’s perceived recklessness was not the only point of consternation between the two.

“You sentenced a man to three months in prison for public intoxication?”

“He had been warned numerous times, Monsieur le Maire, it was hardly his first offense,” Javert explained. Dinner had already been served and they were supposed to be settling down to a relaxing cup of tea. Relaxing, however, had to be postponed because the Mayor had found this one piece of Javert’s report to fixate upon. 

“But three months?” Madeleine asked. “How will he feed his family?”

“He will be drawing a salary for his work in the prison.” Javert put some sugar in his tea and muttered under his breath: “At least now he won’t be spending it all on drink.”

The Mayor was baffled at Javert’s lack of concern. “Do you have no compassion for this man?”

“It’s better that he learn the consequences of his actions now.” Javert took a sip; the housekeeper had made the tea very strong today. “Would you rather wait until he has grievously broken the law and be taken from his children forever?”

Madeleine frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that M. Deschamps’ behavior has escalated over the past month,” Javert said, the man was well on his way to becoming a menace. “If the man hadn’t tripped over his own boots I would have had to add assaulting an officer to the charges.”

Madeleine tensed at this, his grip on his teacup becoming hazardous to its integrity.

“Lambert, not myself,” Javert clarified. 

The Mayor relaxed, the teacup was no longer in danger. 

Javert found Madeleine’s overprotective instincts a nuisance at times. “If he’s in jail,” the Inspector said, “then he can sober up and reflect on his actions.”

“Meanwhile, his children have no father,” Madeleine pointed out.

Javert scowled. “At least it’s only temporary.”

The Mayor sighed; he was a good man but a lenient one. “Have you no mercy, Javert?”

It was a question that Javert had been asked often, usually by those committing some act of wrongdoing; from Madeleine, this question felt like an accusation. “This is mercy.” 

“You said you never met your father, Javert.” The Inspector bristled, Madeleine would not dare. “Of all people, how can you deny them this?”

Javert snapped: “I never met my father, _Sir_ , because he was in prison! You know this and should know better than to use it against me.” 

Silence. An expression of deep shame crossed Madeleine’s brow. “I was not aware.”

The Inspector scoffed. “My history was included in the orders from Paris.” He looked up and noticed that Madeleine seemed to have no recognition of such a thing. Javert hazarded a guess. “The orders you never read.”

“I felt it wasn’t necessary.” At least Madeleine had to grace to admit it.

Javert set down his cup; he had hoped never to bring this up. It wasn’t that he was ashamed of his past, he had more than risen above it, but there was a power to speech that could complicate even a simple narrative. He would keep it brief. “My father made the foolish decision to steal to put food on my mother’s table. Instead of succor all he got was a life in prison.” 

“For theft?” Madeleine asked; he looked scandalized.

“He was a repeat offender,” Javert explained. “So was my mother.” The silence hung thick between the two of them. The Inspector stared down at his hands; he would not look up and see pity in Madeleine’s eyes. “Perhaps if he had learned his lesson the first time, I wouldn’t have been born in a cell.”

One of the Mayor’s warm hands covered his own, the caress tender. “Don’t be so harsh, Javert,” Madeleine said, his voice gentle. “Your father was trying to feed his family.”

Javert sneered, Madeleine could not possibly understand. Losing one’s parents to illness or misfortune was one thing, to their own stupidity was another. “I would rather have starved and had a father than a mouthful of stolen bread.”

Madeleine’s hand stilled. Javert raised his eyes; the Mayor seemed haunted as if he was remembering something long forgotten. The Inspector did not like that look, it reminded him of the despair of Toulon. “Monsieur? Madeleine?”

The older man stirred himself from his stupor, he gave Javert a weak imitation of a smile. “I’m sorry, this just explains so much.”

Javert was puzzled at the statement. “I don’t understand.”

“It is alright.” Madeleine leaned back, trying to get himself reacquainted with the comfort of his chair. “Although I can see why you want this man imprisoned, I do think that three months is too much.”

“Sentence has already been passed,” Javert explained.

“Can it be changed?”

Yes, it was well within the Mayor’s power but Javert wasn’t ready to just let the man walk out of prison. “You can release him at any time but I would prefer to revisit the issue in one month’s time. We can see then if M. Deschamps is ready to rejoin society.”

Madeleine considered this and accepted the compromise. “In one month.”

Dechamps was released from prison in two months, seeing as he was not fit to leave after the initial deadline. Javert was never certain which one of them had won that particular argument and in the end, it did not matter. It was not the last time that Mayor Madeleine would interfere with one of Javert’s arrests, but the last would be disastrous.


	5. Fantine

The town of Montreuil-sur-Mer was covered in a soft blanket of snow. White powder dusted the rooftops and small snowdrifts piled on the sides of the streets. Children played, making snowballs and throwing them at each other. Breaths came out in steamy clouds that hung in the air. The scene was idyllic, but even so Javert was on patrol. 

New soldiers had been posted at the garrison, which always meant trouble. Fresh recruits with no clue about town politics, merchants scouring for new customers to fleece and prostitutes looking for naïve clients were always a bad mix. 

As Javert rounded the corner, he found that his suspicions were correct. A man and a woman were arguing right in front of the officer’s cafe. One of them was a dandy, a layabout named M. Bamatabois, the other was one of the public women, Fantine. Fantine was not violent, although she was prone to drink. Javert had escorted her home several nights to prevent any incidents like the one that was unfolding before his eyes.

The woman launched herself at Bamatabois, her nails carving deep bloody furrows into his cheek. For a mangy stray, Fantine had very sharp claws. Javert pushed his way through the gathering crowd and upon seeing his scowling visage they withdrew, a fierce Moses parting a sea of gawkers. Fantine ceased her attack and trembled, her eyes wide. “It is Javert.”

He seized her arm. “Follow me.” He led her to the station house, his snarl keeping away any lollygaggers. Javert slammed the door, the sound making a point: the law was a matter of public record, not public consumption. Once in the station house he ignored the curious glances from Poulin and Lambert and took Fantine into the room serving as his office. 

He sat down behind his desk and began to write, the poor wretch in his custody crumpled herself into a ball in the corner. Any fool could see that Fantine was ill, her eyes were glassy, her breath reeked of brandy and her pallor was not that of a woman of leisure, but of one nearing death. To sentence her to prison would be a blessing; if she was to die at least she could be buried right away and not left rotting undiscovered in her mean miserable room. Let those who would mourn her mourn a woman and not a hollow shriveled corpse.

“You have attacked a citizen of the town,” Javert informed her. He finished drawing up the order. “You’ll have six months.”

“Six months.” Fantine moaned with despair. “I can’t Monsieur, I have a child!” She started to rant and weep but Javert only half listened. When he was a younger man he may have sympathized, but too many years guarding the unrepentant and gruff men of Toulon stifled any such feelings. His own mother had never protested her innocence, had never pleaded while locked in a cell. She had said, “What do the wails of a woman mean to men such as these,” then spit in the straw at their feet. 

Fantine insisted that she could not undertake her sentence in prison; there was a debt she had to pay, a child to feed, she had been attacked first, etc. Javert would have none of it. “Six months, there’s nothing to be done.”

“One moment, please.” The voice was much too familiar. 

Javert looked up from his desk. It was Madeleine; he hadn’t even heard the man come in. He stood and took off his hat, they weren’t alone and proper decorum had to be observed. “Excuse me, Mr. Mayor—“

The Fantine woman scrambled to her feet, quick as a shot and spat in the man’s face. Javert’s jaw dropped. A prostitute had just assaulted the Mayor, his mate. Even though Madeleine was a gentle man, he still had an aggressive biology. Javert wasn’t certain he would be able to stop him if he tried to kill Fantine.

Madeleine took a handkerchief and wiped the dribbling spittle from his face; he was calm. “Set this woman at liberty.”

“I am free?” Fantine asked. She turned her attention to Javert. “I am not going to prison? Is this true?” She kept babbling at him, something about her history and more about her child but Javert did not hear it. The first time, he had not been listening due to ill attention, this time it was because he was in shock.

Mayor Madeleine had just set free a prostitute who had attacked a citizen and assaulted the Mayor himself. What was happening? Had the world gone mad? Was Javert dreaming all this? Then Fantine grabbed his hand and placed it against her chest. Javert flushed crimson.

However else time and cruelty had ravaged Fantine’s beauty, her breast was still warm and firm. He could feel the beat of her heart beneath his palm, which was starting to grow clammy. Javert had never touched a woman this way, had never desired such a thing and now it was happening in full view of Mayor Madeleine. Javert found himself wishing that the earth would open up and swallow him whole.

Suddenly, his hand was released and Fantine rearranged herself; then she headed for the door. It was the sight of the woman reaching for the doorknob that shook Javert from his stupor. “Where are you going?

“I was just set free,” Fantine explained, looking confused.

“On whose authority?” Javert demanded.

“Mine.” 

Madeleine’s interference was starting to become an issue. Javert knew that they were going to have to address it someday; he just didn’t think it would be like this. “I have to object, Monsieur le Maire.”

“My factory turned this woman away and created this wretch before you.” Madeline was starting to speechify. “It is my—“

“Your feelings of guilt have no bearing on this situation,” Javert said. “This woman insulted a citizen—“

“He attacked her first—“

“She assaulted you, Monsieur!”

“Any insult given was to me,” Madeleine insisted.

Now Javert’s dander was up. “The insult was given to the law!”

“The highest law is conscience,” Madeleine said. “I believe this woman and wish her to go free.”

This conversation was getting completely out of hand. “I must disagree, Monsieur le Maire, I am within my authority to deal with disturbances on the streets and I will detain this woman.” 

“This is a matter connected with the municipal police,” Madeleine argued, “of which I am the judge. This woman will not serve one day in prison.”

Javert tried one last time to plead his case. “Monsieur le Maire—“

Madeleine’s mouth flattened into a thin line. “Leave the room.” It was direct order. 

The words burned through Javert like fire. He had never heard that tone from the Mayor’s lips before. His limbs trembled, completely out of his control. He gave Madeleine a stiff little bow and exited the room. Javert leaned against the door; a deep horror crawled over his skin. 

It was the compulsion; he had not felt it in over a decade. The only other person who could ever make him move against his will was Jean Valjean. It could just be a coincidence, it could just be Javert’s biology submitting to the Mayor’s but he doubted it. Valjean was the only one who could do this to him, who could make him bend in this way. Hot tears pricked at the corners of his eyes. This could not be happening. 

Poulin and Lambert were looking at Javert with concern. “How did the Mayor get into my office?” he hissed, trying to regain some control.

“He said that he was a witness to the case,” Lambert explained. 

Javert snarled. “Go outside and make sure that crowd has dispersed. There’s no need for the vultures to hang about.” Lambert and Poulin rushed to obey him, neither wanted to be around to witness Javert’s wrath. He pushed himself away from the door, his legs weak. 

What was he to do? He could not ignore the evidence any longer. The strength, the scars, the voice, and the mysterious background were all leading to one conclusion: Mayor Madeleine was Jean Valjean.

_“You’ll scream for me someday, I swear it.”_

Javert gripped the edge of a chair, willing the nausea to back down. Oh god, he was mated to the man, it couldn’t be true. He couldn’t possibly be so stupid as to let that fiend into his life. But the heat had overwhelmed him, overwhelmed Madeleine as well. It had stolen away his reason and left him vulnerable to any predator passing by. 

The door to Javert’s office opened. Madeleine stumbled out, cradling the unconscious form of Fantine. “I’m taking this woman to the infirmary.”

“Well,” Javert said, swallowing the lump in his throat, “since the slattern’s in your custody you can do whatever you like with her.” He was an inspector, he should have been above such pettiness but the wounded expression on Madeleine’s face gave him far too much pleasure.

The man left, carrying his human burden. Javert smirked to himself; he could do this. He did not have suffer the whims of his sentimentality; he could steel himself and denounce the man whose bed he shared, with whom he had an unbreakable bond. He just had to stoke his anger, keep it at the forefront of his mind.

Valjean had escaped justice once; he would not do it again. 

\---- 

He drafted a letter and sent it to Paris with the morning’s post. There would be a wait until he got a reply, but Javert had plenty to keep him busy. M. sur. M. was a small town but there were always things happening, even if it was just an issue with a neighbor’s gutter.

Until then, he had to avoid Mayor Madeleine, which was easier said than done. Javert still had reports to give, although he now made excuses not to deliver them nightly. On occasion, they would pass on the street and Madeleine would fall in step with Javert, their shoulders lightly brushing.

“I would like to see you this evening,” Madeleine would ask.

Javert would respond, “Not tonight, I have paperwork.” Or, “I’m feeling rather fatigued.” The Mayor would nod, the rejection sagging his shoulders. Javert would tighten his fist, digging the fingernails into his palm to prevent himself from reaching out to the man.

Rumor had it that Madeleine visited the Fantine woman in the infirmary daily, sometimes even twice in one day. Jealousy was not something Javert was accustomed to feeling so he squashed the emotion with every fiber of his being. What did he care if a convict doted on a whore or if his mate spent time with someone else? 

He hated how he craved Madeleine’s touch, how he missed the casual caresses and the kisses, both gentle and heated. He hated how the other man’s sadness affected him, how he wanted to sooth it away. He hated how his heart clenched when Madeleine looked at him, how he wanted to bend and go back to the way things were. 

He hated being in love. No matter how Javert tried to deny it that was what it was. He was in love with a liar, with a convict, with a man who had threatened him and frightened him in the past, and a man who made him feel safe in the present.

Javert needed the missive from Paris, needed the reply to his condemnation to remove all doubts. He had to distance himself from Madeleine but it was getting more difficult every day. 

“Javert,” Madeleine said, “you have been avoiding me.” Javert was in the middle of a report; the factory was shut down for the evening. They were the only souls in the building.

The Inspector nodded. “Yes, Monsieur le Maire, I have.”

“Why?” It was a question filled with pain, with a deep hurt that Javert could not answer with full honesty, not yet.

“You undermined my authority in the Fantine matter,” Javert replied.

Madeleine shook his head, as if he couldn’t believe that it was still an issue. “You were going to let that woman rot in jail.”

“She insulted a citizen,” Javert said. “And now we have to see if the gentleman files a formal compliant.” The air was stifling, he couldn’t breathe. “We’ll see how well your vaunted mercy holds up in court.” Javert spun on his heel; he could not stand another moment in Madeleine’s presence.

“Javert--” Madeleine dared to place his palm on Javert’s shoulder.

The Inspector slapped it away. “Don’t touch me.”

Rough hands grabbed Javert’s arms and jerked him forward. Their lips crushed together, Madeleine dominating the kiss. Javert pulled back just a fraction and bit down. The foul taste of blood flooded his mouth. Madeleine jerked away, eyes wide with shock. 

Javert’s lips were shiny with spit and Madeleine’s blood. “I am not a dog that you can kick and then bring to heel with some scraps and a pat on the head.” 

“You are not a dog,” Madeline said, his voice racked with pain. “Javert--” He licked his lips and pressed a kiss to Javert’s brow. “I love you,” he whispered. “Whatever I have done to offend you please tell me. Please, I can’t live without you.”

Javert was choking; his throat closed up and his chest tightened. He trembled, he wanted Madeleine to be a liar, he wanted Madeleine to be someone he could despise; but Madeleine was telling the truth and it was killing Javert.

“I have to leave,” Javert said, pushing away from that broad chest, from the arms that had cradled him, had loved him. He rushed out the door, everything forgotten but the pounding of his heart and the ache in his skull. He trudged home, every step wearing him down. It had been weeks, how much longer would he have to endure this? 

The house was quiet, which suited Javert’s darkening mood. He made his way up the stairs, his steps silent. He did not wish to be disturbed. When he entered his sparse room he lit a candle and there sitting on his bed was a letter; it was from Paris. Javert tore open the envelope and devoured its contents.

The Prefecture had arrested a man named Champmathieu, who they discovered to be Jean Valjean. The man was to go on trial in a few days; Javert was needed to give testimony and to identify the man.

Javert’s blood went cold. 

Oh god, what had he done?


	6. Resignation

When Javert prepared his toilet that morning, he took extra care in making himself presentable. He had shamed Madeleine with his accusation, he had shamed himself by informing against a mate, and he had shamed his occupation by confusing his professional instincts with his personal ones; he would not shame himself today by being slovenly. Beard neatly trimmed, hair combed, his uniform perfect, he would have passed a surprise inspection with flying colors. Unfortunately, he was not preparing himself for commendation. 

For six weeks he had been living under the mistaken assumption that Mayor Madeleine had been Jean Valjean; now he would have to live with the consequences. Javert placed his hat on his head and went out the door. It was still early morning; the factory was not yet open. The sooner he talked to Madeleine, the sooner he could depart. He would have to leave his horse Gymont behind and travel on foot. Although Gymont had been his companion for the past few years, he did not belong to the Inspector. 

Javert sighed, Montreuil-sur-Mer was hardly his favorite place but it would still be hard to leave. There were the other two officers he would never see again: Poulin with his terrible jokes and the overeager Lambert and his endless doting over his factory girl. There was also the way the moonlight shone over the docks, the smell of fresh bread from the bakery, M. Vipond’s genuine concern, and the way that Madeleine would smile at him when especially pleased. These were all doors that were closed to him now.

Madeleine was in his office; he had not yet bothered to remove his coat. He was bent over his desk, looking at a ledger. “Monsieur le Maire,” Javert announced himself. 

“Oh, Javert,” Madeline straightened his back and tugged at his sleeves. He set his arms behind his back and shuffled his feet. He looked nervous and considering Javert’s hostile behavior the day before he had every right to. “What brings you at this hour?”

Javert took off his hat and stepped into the room. He closed the door behind him. Although there was no one else present, it eased his mind. He stood there, his head bowed and shoulders slumped; he would not meet Madeleine’s eyes. “A crime has been committed against your person by an inferior agent of the authorities,” he said.

“A crime?” Madeleine chuckled in disbelief. “What sort of crime?”

“An act of libel, sir,” Javert licked his lips, they suddenly felt dry, “an accusation which has been discovered to be unfounded.”

The Mayor shook his head. “I find it hard to believe that one would accuse me of anything.”

How little the man knew, how naïve he was and Javert was going to teach him just how misplaced his trust was. “Yet someone has, Monsieur le Maire.”

“Well, who is it?”

Javert sighed, his shoulders trembling. “Me.”

“You, Javert?”

He closed his eyes; he had to finish this. “Yes, and I request that you dismiss me from my post.”

The confusion in the Mayor’s voice made Javert’s stomach turn. “I don’t understand.”

“I informed on you to the Prefecture of Paris Police. I accused you of being an ex-convict, one Jean Valjean.” Silence. Javert forced the rest of the words to come: “I have brought shame to this community and to my office, I request that you turn me out.”

A pair of warm hands settled on his shoulders. “Why would you make such an accusation?”

Javert flinched away; he would not let Madeleine sully himself by touching a traitor. “Partly because of the incident with Fantine,” Javert said, “but the idea had been in the back of my mind since you picked up Fauchelevant’s cart.”

“That long?” Madeleine whispered.

Javert took a step back; Madeleine was far too close. “Yes, but I received a letter from Paris informing me that I was mistaken. The Prefecture has already arrested a man named Champmathieu and they say he is Jean Valjean.” 

Madeleine’s countenance was grave. “Why?”

Javert related the details from the letter, the man’s former occupation, his name and the dozens of other small connections that had been discovered. He revealed that a convict named Brevet had first identified him and that two others from his time in Toulon, Cochepaille and Chenildieu, had also declared him Valjean. 

“What about you, have you seen this man?” Madeleine asked.

“Not yet,” Javert replied, finally raising his head, though his eyes remained fixed on the wall. “I am to go to Arras for the trial and identify him for the court.”

“What happens if you claim he’s not Valjean?”

Javert could not help the laugh that burst from his chest. “I doubt that will happen, these men have done a thorough investigation, it has to be Valjean.”

Madeleine stared at Javert, suddenly intent. “What if it isn’t?”

He answered honestly, though the question was absurd. “Then I will tell them so.”

Madeleine nodded and went to the window overlooking the factory floor. “When do you leave?”

Javert felt more comfortable now that he wasn’t in the other man’s line of vision. “Tomorrow afternoon, though I will have to travel elsewhere tonight.”

The Mayor turned and frowned at him. “Why?”

“I’m being dismissed,” Javert explained. “I can’t stay here.”

“Javert,” Madeleine’s voice was stern, “I’m not dismissing you.”

“What? But, Sir--”

The Mayor raised his hand, a command for silence. “You are too valuable for the community to lose you over a minor misunderstanding.”

“A minor—“ Javert clenched his fists in frustration. “I abused my authority and leveled a grave charge against a good man. If one of my subordinates had done this I would have turned them out onto the streets.” Javert’s tone was low and respectful, but intense in his fervor. “I only ask to receive the same punishment I would reserve for any criminal. Be as harsh with me as I have been with others; do not make me suffer your kindness.”

Madeleine shook his head. “Inspector, you are not a man who would act without good reason. You thought I was this Jean Valjean and I would like to know why. Unfortunately, we cannot have this discussion now.” He looked over at the clock; the workers would be coming in soon. Madeline shifted his gaze back to Javert. “Come to my home this evening.”

The Inspector found himself at a loss. “But—“

“We will talk later. Please,” Madeleine was pleading and soft, “return to your post.”

Javert inhaled, trying to calm his rapidly beating heart. He gave the Mayor a respectful bow and departed.

The rest of the day passed in a blur. He gave instructions for Poulin and Lambert on what to do in his absence, but honestly they didn’t need it. They had been working together long enough for the other men to know the routine, but it was for his own peace of mind. He groomed Gymont, preparing him for tomorrow’s journey. If every once and a while he faltered in his brushing or at picking out grit from a set of hooves and just buried his head in the horse’s neck, no one was around to witness it. 

It seemed that Madeleine had forgiven him his trespasses, though it was beyond Javert’s reasoning as to why. The Mayor did seem concerned about how such a dreadful misunderstanding could have happened and if honesty was to be Javert’s atonement, then he would give it gladly.

Madeleine himself greeted Javert at the door that evening. “Good evening, Javert.”

“Good evening, Monsieur le Maire.”

The Mayor shook his head and laid a hand upon Javert’s arm. “I am not speaking to you as your superior tonight.”

Javert swallowed. “I understand.”

He removed his coat as was custom and they retired to the sitting room. The fire roared warm and bright, the usual chairs placed before it. There was a bowl of stew prepared and though Javert did not feel like eating, he took a few bites. The savory flavor awakened a hunger he was not aware of and he devoured the whole thing. Madeleine ate in silence, watching him from the corner of his eye. They finished and the Mayor took the bowls away himself, depositing them in the kitchen. 

Stomach full, Javert steeled himself for the ordeal to come. Madeleine returned and settled into his chair.

“Tell me about Jean Valjean.”

Javert spoke as if he was giving a report, no inflection, and no emotion, just a cold statement of fact. “When I was a guard at Toulon he was one of the convicts under my charge. He was a thief, and though his sentence was for only five years he spent nineteen in custody. Valjean tried to escape numerous times and failed.” 

“I do not see the connection between this man and myself.” Of course he would not, the sinner had not even begun his confession.

“Valjean was also a man of tremendous strength, his nickname was Jean-le-Cric because we never wanted for a jack when he was around,” Javert explained. “When you lifted the cart that morning you reminded me of him.”

Madeleine listened patiently. “What else?”

“He had a nature like yours, though your dispositions could not be more different.” That was an understatement. “Valjean was violent; he would assault the other prisoners, usually in my presence, like he was trying to impress me by beating a man nearly to death.” 

“Why would he do such a thing?”

“You had asked me once if I had ever been courted and I never answered you. Valjean discovered my biology and—“ Javert took a breath, trying to find the words. “He took an interest in me. No, that’s not quite right he—“ 

Javert had never spoken about those years aloud, had never told anyone about any of this. “He acted as if it was inevitable, that I belonged to him. He threatened me; he made lewd comments and talked about my heat. That one day I wouldn’t be able to help myself and he’d take me.” He closed his eyes, willing himself not to remember. 

There was a sound, the scrap of Madeleine moving from his chair. Javert opened his eyes to see the other man kneeling before him. “Did you want him to?” Madeleine asked.

Javert shuddered. “No. Sometimes my body reacted to him, but he was not what I wanted. He didn’t have any affection for me, he only wanted--” He could not bear to finish the thought. 

Madeleine reached out a tentative hand; Javert closed the distance and intertwined their fingers. The warmth and weight of it was a great comfort. “I’m still having trouble seeing your case against me,” Madeleine said.

Of course, the worst was yet to come. When Javert was finished, he was certain Madeleine would turn him out, send him away for even thinking to draw a comparison between these two men. “In prison the guards try to curb aggressive natures with methods I don’t approve of. Valjean could not keep his true nature hidden for long, not with the violence. The other guards wanted to castrate him.”

Madeleine sucked in a harsh breath.

“I convinced them not to, that we could beat the insubordination from him without resorting to mutilation.” Valjean had screamed that day, despite trying to hold his tongue. Javert still heard him on nights when sleep would not come. “You have marks on your back that look like the scars the lash inflicted on Valjean.”

Madeleine shifted, rolling his shoulders. “My childhood was not an easy one.”

The Inspector nodded, accepting the explanation. “There are other small things; you limp on occasion the same way a man who had been in a chain gang would. Little is known about you but you do come from the same area as Valjean. You are the same age and have the same build.” He reached out a hand, skimming his fingers along Madeleine’s chin. “Your shoulders and the cut of your jaw is similar.”

The older man smiled. “You’ve spent a lot of time observing me.”

Javert flushed. “Not all of it was professional.”

At that Madeleine chuckled, Javert was amazed that the other man could find any levity at a time like this. 

“There was one other thing,” Javert admitted, this was the part he dreaded. “When you ordered me to leave the room during Fantine’s arrest you used a certain tone of voice. I felt a compulsion to obey you, I could not resist if I tried.” Javert pulled his free hand back, clenching it into a fist on his knee. “Only one other person has been able to do this to me.”

“Jean Valjean.”

“Yes.”

Madeleine moved back to pull his chair closer and sat down. He was not a young man anymore and there was only so much of the floor he could take. 

“I lived in fear of that voice, of that command,” Javert said once the other had settled again. “The world can find some use for natures like yours but it has never been forgiving of mine. My birth makes finding a good occupation difficult enough without adding biology. I would have been ruined if Valjean had ever commanded me in front of an audience.” 

The Mayor said nothing. He gave a slight nod of the head to indicate that Javert should continue.

“When you spoke to me that way it changed everything. Suddenly I was afraid of you and of everything we’ve done. All I could think about was Valjean’s last words to me, how hateful and how threatening he was.” Javert’s voice was starting to tremble, his stoic façade crumbling. All of the loneliness and anguish of the past weeks were coming out. “And if you two were the same man—“

Madeleine pulled Javert into his arms, enfolding the other man in a tight embrace. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. He kissed the side of Javert’s face, his brow. “I’m sorry.”

Javert did not cry, though his throat was tight and his chest hurt, tears did not fall. He nuzzled into the side of Madeleine’s neck, breathing in his mate’s scent. He had missed this, this simple contact, this closeness. Javert never wanted to lose this again. 

“I am sorry that I have ever made you afraid,” Madeleine said, his hands stroking Javert’s back, “that I have ever reminded you of that man.”

“And I was wrong,” Javert said, sitting back. He had to look Madeleine in the eye, had to make the other man understand his shame. “That’s the worst of it. I had to fight every instinct I had to write that letter, to make my case, and it was wrong.”

“Not many would have had the strength,” Madeleine said. He stroked the side of Javert’s face, his eyes unreadable. “I am very proud of you.”

The Inspector scoffed. “You are proud of a traitor?”

“Of being with a man who has that much conviction. You risked your own happiness to do what you thought was right.” Madeleine seemed to be lost in thought. He continued to touch Javert, his hands tracing the other man’s features as if he wanted to commit this moment to memory. “Will you stay with me tonight?” he asked.

Javert nodded his consent. Madeleine seemed to have no interest in coupling, which was a bit of a relief, but he kept close to Javert the rest of the night. Sometimes their shoulders brushed, or their fingers, sometimes the older man would lean forward and sneak a kiss as they talked. They took a glass of wine, an indulgence but one sorely needed. 

They enjoyed each other’s company, reveling in being able to do so again. Javert was gratified to see the happiness in Madeleine’s face and his cheeks hurt from expressing his own. The hour grew late and they decided to adjourn for the night. 

“Will you see me off tomorrow?” Javert asked, settling onto his side in the Mayor’s bed. 

“No.” Madeleine wrapped his arm around Javert’s middle, molding himself to the Inspector’s back. “I have business out of town. I will be leaving in the morning.”

Javert closed his eyes; sleep would overtake him soon. “Should I stay for breakfast?”

“Please.” Warm breath ghosted over his ear, before he felt a face burrow into the back of his neck. This was contentment; this was what they always should be.

Javert resolved to make this trip as quickly as possible. Once Valjean was convicted, he could spend the rest of his life without fear, without anger. Madeleine was a generous man to stick by him through this sort of betrayal. As the darkness of slumber came, Javert vowed never to doubt the man again.


	7. Champmathieu

“Who is this?” Javert asked, nodding his head toward a rather pathetic looking specimen of humanity.

“That is Champmathieu.” Bisset was one of the newer officers at Arras and he had agreed to accompany Javert to the holding cells. The man was young and his face was that of a brute; the exact sort of man drawn to the police because of the modicum of power it gave him. 

Javert scrutinized the man in question with a critical eye. Champmathieu sat in a jail cell, his head down, eyes glassy. His hair was white, his beard shaggy and his build fairly solid. He had the pheromones of Valjean’s type, the man made no effort to disguise them, but they seemed muted somehow. Where Valjean had given the impression of being a lion or a bear, this man seemed more like a dull-witted cow. 

“What’s wrong with him? He seems so,” Javert searched for the right word, “docile.”

“Oh, well he put up quite a fight during arrest and so they—“ Bisset made a crude cutting motion with his hand. 

Javert sneered in disgust; they were barbarians cloaked as officers of the law. “Inexcusable. I want the names of the men involved in the arrest, the Prefecture needs to hear of this.”

“What does it matter?” Bisset asked. “This man is a convict, a repeat offender.”

The Inspector shook his head. “No,” he said, “that man is not Jean Valjean.”

Bisset laughed, his eye twitching with nerves. “How can you say that? Three other men have identified him.”

“Three convicts,” Javert clarified, “men who cannot testify under oath.” He directed his sharp gaze at Bisset. “I, on the other hand, was a guard at Toulon for years and know all the parties involved. Valjean was a powerful man - not this shrinking violet.” He could not keep the contempt out of his voice. Was there really no one else they could have dragged out here for this? “As for the witnesses, Brevet is half blind, Cochepaille is stupid and just says what anyone tells him to say and Cheildieu is so old and feeble that he thinks anyone with white hair and a beard could be a convict.”

Bisset stammered, “But you have to testify, we’ve already got a jury and everything.“

Javert gave the man a withering glare. “I’m not going to lie for the sake of saving a hack lawyer some embarrassment.” He pushed his way passed the officer and headed for the door.

Bisset called after him: “But the trial?”

“There is no trial,” Javert explained. “Your superiors should have brought me in to identify this man earlier; it would have saved a lot of trouble.” Cowing this sorry excuse for a lawman should not have been so satisfying.

“But Inspector—“

“Since there is no further business to conduct,” Javert said, “I am going to enjoy a cup of coffee at the café before I return to M. sur M. And--” Javert spun on his heel to face the younger officer; “I want a list of the officers involved in that man’s arrest delivered to my table before I’m done.” 

He stormed out the door into the bright sun, heading straight for the café. This entire exercise had been a waste of time. Dealing with clogged gutters was more productive than this. At least the coffee was hot and strong. Javert sat at a private table, savoring every drop. 

It was much better than the slop Mme. Berger served and Javert looked forward to telling Madeleine all about it. The other man didn’t have the same passion for the drink that Javert had, but still it would be nice to share. Javert ignored the fact that his cheeks warmed a little at the thought. 

There was only one thing that bothered him: if Champmathieu was not Valjean then it meant the man was still on the loose. Javert frowned at the thought. On the other hand, Valjean had left Toulon years ago and had not sought Javert out. To do so now would be to risk his freedom for little chance of reward. Javert was mated and to a man with strength that equaled the convict’s. He was safe.

A portly man with muttonchops entered the café and stood before Javert’s table. “Inspector Javert.”

Javert stood and bowed in respect. “M. District Attorney.” 

“Is it true,” the District Attorney asked, “that you say Champmathieu is not Jean Valjean?”

“I am not in the habit of being difficult, sir,” Javert answered. “It is an honest assessment.”

“Damn,” the man took out a handkerchief and wiped his sweaty brow, “and we were so sure of it.”

“I can see why, the circumstantial evidence is compelling; but the truth is the truth. This man is not Valjean.” Javert hoped he would be satisfied and leave; the coffee was getting cold.

“If you would sign this deposition then,” the District Attorney placed a document on the table. Javert scanned the words; he would consent to sign his name. Ink was placed to paper, goodbyes spoken and Javert was left alone to enjoy his coffee.

The bliss lasted until only a few sips remained in the bottom of the cup. “Inspector!” It was Bisset; the officer saluted him and almost smacked himself in the face in his haste. 

“Did you bring me the list?” Javert asked.

“No, sir.”

“Then why are you here?” Please, let the Lord deliver him from fools such as this one. 

“A man has just come into the courthouse,” Bisset was shaking with excitement, “he claims that _he_ is Valjean.”

Javert gripped the cup so tightly it creaked with strain. “What?”

“He walked right up to the district attorney and told him,” Bisset explained. He had a manner less becoming an officer of the law than a gossiping grisette. “Then they fetched the three convicts and they said they recognized him.”

Javert rolled his eyes. “We know how reliable those three are.”

“Yes,” Bisset’s voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper, “but this one said you had already denounced him to the Prefecture.”

Javert’s hand started to tremble; he set down the coffee cup. He had a dreadful feeling about this. “Who is he?” he asked.

“You won’t believe this,” the younger officer licked his lips, “it’s Monsieur Madeleine the Mayor of Montreuil-sur-Mer.”

Javert was going to kill him. He was going to beat that lying bastard to death with his fists; then he was going to burn the body and dump it in the slums he loved so much. Damn him, damn him, damn him. Despite his rising fury the only words that came from Javert’s mouth were these: “Where is he?”

Bisset fidgeted, he had delivered the news but now he wanted to be out of Javert’s glowering presence. “He left.”

“He left,” Javert repeated in his deceptively calm voice.

“Yes, he made his statement and when he learned that Champmathieu was no longer accused he left.”

There was a spot right above Javert’s right eye that started to throb. “This man confessed to being a convict and you idiots let him go?”

Bisset bit his lower lip, and let out a squeak. “Yes.”

“Right.” Javert stood up and slammed his hands upon the table. He had no idea how much of a head start Valjean had, but Javert was certain the man would go back to M. sur M. All of his money and papers were there, the things that a convict would need to go back on the run. 

How could he have been so stupid? All the evidence had been right there, but he had ignored it because of a single letter; because of a single letter and because he believed what he had wanted to believe. He had wanted Madeleine to be a good man, for all of his works of charity to just be who he was and not some twisted form of atonement.

Javert had let this man hold him, touch him, make love to him; he had allowed Madeleine liberties that he would not have allowed of anyone else. He had felt safe in Madeleine’s embrace, had felt loved. And there was the rub, Madeleine had lied about his name, about his history, but he had not lied about his heart. The damnable bond told Javert that much. 

It should have been a comfort, but somehow it just made everything worse. Javert could not reconcile the vile beast from Toulon with the gentleman of M. sur M. Something had to have happened between the day the doors of Toulon closed behind Valjean and the day he walked into M. sur M; something to convert the animal to a man.

But the true question was did it matter? Did it change the fact that Valjean had broken parole; that he had robbed a child and possibly a bishop? Did it change the beat of an angry broken heart? Did it mend the ache in the middle of his chest, the pressure behind his eyes? Did it change anything? 

Javert had been prepared to do his duty before, could he do it now? Could he send the man who had given him so much happiness and so much sorrow to die in chains? Could he condemn Jean Valjean and Madeleine both to the sting of the salt spray and the lash for the rest of their days? 

The journey back to M. sur M. was exhausting. There were too many memories, too many sensations to process and by the time he made it to the garrison Javert was numb. He wanted to get this over with quickly before he faltered in his duty. He could forgive his heart all its trespasses as long as he brought Valjean to justice. 

He requested the assistance of four armed men from the soldiers, volunteers were surprisingly easy to acquire. Apparently Javert was not the only one who found the action in Montreuil lacking. He hoped that he wouldn’t actually need the men, but letting a criminal lose because he was unprepared was imprudent.

He led them to the hospital; the first place Javert thought Valjean would stop. He instructed the men to wait outside; he hoped that this would be a quiet arrest. 

One of the nuns greeted him and told him where Fantine’s room was. She did not think anything was amiss, all the better for Javert. He climbed the stairs, silent and sure in his step. Javert was not a small man, but he could be quiet as a mouse when necessary.

He approached the room and stepped inside, keeping to the shadows. Valjean was at Fantine’s bedside; she was coughing. Deep, ragged, painful sounds poured out from her thin frame. She was near death, her soul only hanging by a thread.

When the coughing died, she turned her face so full of hope upon Valjean. “And my Cosette, is she here? May I see her soon?”

“Yes,” Valjean said. He tried to keep his voice light, but the sorrow was etched deep into his eyes. He knew he was lying. 

Javert had no fondness for Fantine, but to have this woman cling to life on a falsehood seemed cruel. He had seen enough. “Another lie, Valjean? How do you keep track of them all?”

Valjean turned at the sound of his voice. “Javert.”

Fantine looked confused, she gripped Valjean’s shirtsleeve with a bony hand. “What does he mean, Monsieur le Maire?”

“There is no Monsieur le Maire,” Javert announced, allowing the light to expose him, ”there is only the convict Jean Valjean.”

“Is this true?” Fantine asked. 

Madeleine removed Fantine’s hand from his sleeve, his face drawn tight. “Javert may we speak in private?” he whispered. 

Javert would not be swayed. Every second that Valjean stayed out of custody was a second that he could use to escape. “There is nothing to speak about.” 

“Please.” It was the same pleading tone that Madeleine had used with Javert before. There was nothing haughty in it, nothing proud. Javert allowed himself to bend before it. He could spare a few scant moments to hear whatever pathetic drivel Valjean spouted. Javert grabbed the convict’s collar and hauled him into the next room; Valjean went quietly. 

Javert kept his grip on the other man and pinned him against the wall. “Out with it.”

“I need three days to fetch Fantine’s child,” Valjean said. “She is staying at an inn in Montfermeil, I have written the innkeepers but they have yet to send the child. I would like for you to come with me.” 

What foolishness was this? “Why? So at the end of three days you can decide you want your freedom and then compel me to let you go? Or worse, compel me to be your whore?” Javert asked. He relished Valjean’s flinch at the accusation, a hurt exchanged for a hurt. He sneered, pressing his attack. “I will go nowhere with you, 24601.”

“No!” Valjean eyes flashed with anger. “I am Jean Valjean, I will wear that name until the day I die, but I am not that man!”

Javert laughed, nervous at the sudden outburst. “What difference does it make?”

“I am not the same man that 24601 was,” Valjean insisted.

Javert met Valjean’s stare. “Prove it.” 

“24601 could never love you.” Javert felt like he had been punched in the stomach. Valjean’s hand curled around his bicep. “The thought of the man I was in Toulon touching you—“ Valjean leaned forward, Javert could feel the man’s breath on his cheek. “I would kill him.”

Javert pulled away, keeping Valjean at arm’s length. His heart thudded in his chest. “I will not grant you your leave,” Javert said, his voice louder than intended.

“Please Monsieur, have mercy, if only for your sake!” It was Fantine calling out as loud as she dared. 

Javert scoffed, he would not take advice from a hussy. “Quiet, woman! Save your breath!”

“Please—“ Her plea degenerated into thick coughs. Javert could see Valjean was alarmed by the sound. He let go of the convict and followed him back to Fantine’s bedside. 

Valjean knelt by her side, his hand brushing the short damp hair back. Her eyes were glassy but she still sought out his face. She was struggling to stay upright, to let her lung’s fury take its course. Finally, she fell back; her chest rose and fell with almost no movement. “Please, Cosette—“ Her eyes closed. 

Silence. 

“Come away, there’s nothing to be done,” Javert said, voice quiet in the house of the dead.

“One moment, please.” Valjean whispered something too low for Javert to hear into the dead woman’s ear. He took her hands, placed them on her chest; tucked her in the bed like she was a child. She looked peaceful, at rest.

Valjean stood; he brushed the dirt off his knees. He was resigned to his fate. It hurt Javert to see the man this way. “I am ready,” Valjean said. 

Javert approached him, pulling out a set of handcuffs. Valjean turned his back and readied his hands. The Inspector cuffed his quarry; his thumbs lingering too long on the palms he knew so well. Javert sighed and spun Valjean around to face him.

“I have just one question,” Javert said. It had been burning in his mind for the last few hours, something he needed to know. “Why did you have me come to your home that last night?”

“I did not wish you to despair because you were right,” Valjean said. “Because you were afraid, because you felt guilty and I could not bear to see you that way.” His eyes were lowered; his shoulders slumped in defeat. “And, may the Lord forgive me, I wanted one last illusion of happiness.”

Javert pressed his lips together; he had nothing left to say. He took Valjean’s arm in one hand and pushed him out the door. He would send this man back to the galleys, back to a life in chains. Their bond would not die but it would wither and fade with time. Javert would be alone again, secure in the knowledge that he had upheld the law of the land even while his heart was bleeding. 

End


End file.
